


Wonder

by TigerMoonBETA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Depressed Harry, Drama, Emotional Turmoil, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Insecure Draco Malfoy, Lack of Communication, M/M, Multi, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Polyamory, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Ron is Wise, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, personally i enjoy some of this dialogue a lot lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoonBETA/pseuds/TigerMoonBETA
Summary: “I didn’t think it would end up like this. I’m glad it did,” Harry gets out in one breath, but it’s strained like the words are cutting up his tongue on the way out. “So then I started to fancy you and I knew I had to explain this but I just kept putting it off and putting it off-““Putting what off, Harry?”“I’m-“ going stiff, he falters, glancing everywhere but Draco resolutely then he sighs. Their hands lock loosely together on their own accord. “Hermione is with Ron. And I’m with you. But they’re also mine.”When Draco Malfoy stumbles into a relationship with Harry Potter, he finds that the Golden Trio is a package deal, so he does his best to take it all in stride. Who knew dating Harry Potter could be so complicated?(Main DM/HP)





	Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially an exercise for me to write out feelings and relationship dynamics. I've fallen out of this particular piece but I hope it's enjoyable!
> 
> Another great read if you're interested in this type of stuff and hence partially inspired this is the Headway series by Seefin.

It starts about a month into their eighth year. He’d gotten used to sitting by himself but on a morning that’s not particular or out of the ordinary, Harry Potter slides into the seat next to him. Draco’s got a forkful of food halfway to his face when it stops, his mouth slightly ajar. He doesn’t even have time to get a sarcastic quip out when Harry smiles at him sheepishly like there’s nothing even wrong between them. 

 

“Hey Malfoy,” Potter says and Draco is still gaping. “So unsurprisingly I’m still rubbish at potions and I need help with this essay. Would you?”

 

The blonde sets his fork down.

“Would I pretend to be chummy with you so can pass Slughorn’s class?” he finally manages to get out, still processing the words as he speaks them. Then Draco takes in Harry fully- the way one of his hands is rubbing the back of his neck, the way he’s straining a grin to mask his trepidation. He’s like an open book- or maybe Draco’s just been reading this particular book for a long time. 

So fuck it. 

 

“Sure,” he agrees and Potter’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline, like he wasn’t actually expecting a yes. “How could this end other than horribly?” 

 

Horribly is not exactly the word he finds himself using though in a week and a half, when they’ve both shoved themselves into a maintenance closet, and Potter’s hand is wrapped around his cock. 

“Fuck, Potter-“

 

“Shhh,” the Gryffindor hushes him. Technically they’re not apart of a house anymore but he will never be able to let that label go. He squeezes, twisting his wrist and Malfoy bucks up into him reflexively. “We’ll get caught.”

 

Draco keens. And Harry plasters a smirk over his features, one that’s visible even in lighting as shitty as this. 

“You’d  _ like that _ , wouldn’t you?”

 

“Sick fuck,” Draco spits and hisses, his hand on Potter’s shoulder and he pushes it, jamming against the wall. “You going to let me come or not?”

 

“Of course,” Harry assures him, pumping his fist faster and it has the Slytherin biting the inside of his cheek. “If you come to Hogsmeade with me after this.” 

 

“What?!”

 

“Me and Ron and Hermione are going. I want you to come with.”

 

Flushing, Draco chokes out a breath and then reaches down, grabbing Harry’s wrist to still his movements. 

“Is that why you pulled me in here?” he asks suspiciously. 

 

“Partly,” Harry admits. “Also you seemed a bit stressed. Thought I could help.”

 

Draco looks at him funny, searching for any trace of malicious intent or sarcasm but he finds none. His stomach is doing flips, his heart all fuzzy and it catches him off guard how he is filled with something other than hate. He lets go of Harry’s wrist. 

“I wouldn’t have said no,” he confesses. And impulsively, indulging a sudden urge, leans forward and kisses Harry Potter. It’s frantic and sloppy at best but he can’t imagine anything else that they would be together. “Now hurry up because I’d like to suck you before we go and I don’t want to keep your friends waiting.” 

 

He apologizes to them right after that. There’s no way to single them out for privacy without it seeming threatening but he would rather not have the humility to apologize in front of the entire world. Of course, if that’s what they wanted from him, then he supposes he could find it within himself to do it. But, Draco figures, if he’s going to continue to shove himself into secluded spaces with Harry, proper apologies are in order. Actually they would be in order regardless of that. 

 

“Hey,” Draco says hesitantly to Hermione, catching her on the shoulder. Ron is watching him like a hawk but keeps his distance. He knows he would have a difficult time apologizing to Weasley if he hasn’t even apologized to his girlfriend first. “Would you mind if we hang back? Only a few moments I promise.” They can stand to be late for supper. 

 

She casts a careful glance over to the other boys. Ron seems a little… constipated but Harry’s looking at them with almost an understanding. 

“Sure,” Hermione finally manages. 

Once they’re alone he swallows heavily, suddenly wishing he had prepared some sort of notecards. This doesn’t come easily. 

 

“If you’re going to apolog-“

 

“I need to say this,” Draco looks at her pleadingly. “More importantly I need you to hear this.” 

 

She doesn’t interrupt him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says in one breath. “I know that will never begin to cover the hurt I’ve caused you and I don’t expect your forgiveness. You suffered greatly at my torment. That will never go away. I’m still unlearning my prejudice and I will always be a git. I would just like you to know that I’m sorry.” 

 

Her smile is almost sad. No teeth and wavering like it’ll fall any second. But it doesn’t. There’s only the distant chatter of the students in the great hall, metallic clinking of the silverware, the occasional shout. Draco hears her high pitched scream in the back of his mind, reminding him that this is what he’s trying to apologize for. Racism, torture, murder. 

 

“Thank you,” Hermione says, then she nods toward the door. “Let’s grab something to eat before Ron clears the whole table, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ron is next. Draco’s knees go weak whenever he thinks about approaching the red haired brick shithouse. Hermione’s right hook certainly did hurt but Draco doesn’t doubt Ron would do anything less than send him into orbit if he says one wrong word.

It has to happen though. Just how to make it.

In the common room, his eyes flit between him and Harry, running through every scenario in his head deciding which will be the best to go with. Hermione must catch him staring.   
  
“He likes chess,” she whispers in passing, her curly hair draping over his shoulder as she leans down to where he’s sitting to tell him, then she glides over to the other two as though nothing happened. She kisses Ron on the cheek, telling Harry to ‘budge over’ and sliding into the same seat as he makes room for her. 

 

After about half an hour, Hermione mutters something inconspicuously into Boy Savior’s ear and they vacate the room, leaving Ron to his own devices.   
Draco hesitates, his knees going weak again, but he stumbles over to the table and summons his personal wizard chess set out of the non-being, setting it onto the table.

“So, chess?”

Draco loses on purpose, but not obviously, and just barely. 

 

“Good game.”

 

“Yes… Say W- Ron?”

 

“Yeah Malfoy?”

 

“Umm…” he hums, stalling, scooping up the chess pieces and piling them together. “I wanted to say that I was sorry.”

 

“Sorry,” Ron echos. 

 

“For. For being an ignorant bastard. A bully.”

Merlin this is harder than it should be, and Ron’s looking at him kind of blankly and Draco thinks that might even be worse than rage because he doesn’t know what’s coming next. A punch? Maybe. He braces himself but Ron just sighs, looking down at the lines on his palms.

“Look. What you did in the past, Malfoy? That was shitty. Beyond. So I don’t know what you want- my forgiveness? Becaus-”

 

“No,” Malfoy interrupts him and cringes. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

 

“Well… good. Because I just don’t know. You hurt me and you hurt them,” Ron looks over in the direction Hermione and Harry left. “You picked on me for being poor but other people were going to do that behind my back anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re apologizing but if anything. It’s not  _ me  _ that you should be saying sorry to an-”

 

“I apologized to Hermione already,” Draco interjects, but this time more softly. “It wouldn’t feel right. Asking you to hear me out before her. I know how much you care about her it would be an insult to-”

 

“Did you apologize to Harry?”

 

He pales.   
“What?”

 

“Did you, or did you not? It’s a simple question mate.”

 

“I-” It didn’t seem obligatory. Yes, now in hindsight it does, but even if an apology was issued, it would never be enough. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not in any universe, ever. The words ‘I’m sorry’ fall short in comparison to everything he’s ever done to Harry. But Harry came to him that day. His throat is getting tight again, eyes burning. “I guess I didn’t.”

 

“Then you should,” Ron tells him simply. “I care about him too. It’s the three of us. Always has been.”

 

“I will.” 

 

And he does. It’s not perfect, not satisfactory, and Draco suspects he will be repenting his whole life to apologize for what he’s done to the boy who lived.

They sit shoulder to shoulder, propped up in Draco’s bed. It’s a tight fit. But they manage.

 

“Hey, Potter?”

 

“Yes Malfoy?”

 

The moon shines through the window, bathing the two of them as Draco struggles to catch his breath, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and well… his arse is a bit sore. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into the air. It’s two words, a confession between them, but it’s all he can think to say. Two words, for the two of them. It’s always been the two of them.

 

Harry frowns, holding one of Draco’s hands in both of his own, tracing knuckles and fingertips while he works out a reply.

  
“I know,” he says finally. “Me too.”

 

Somehow, between all the blowjobs they start smiling at each other softly in the halls, sitting closer during meals so their thighs squish together and the other two thirds of the trio begin to sit with them. They hold hands in the common room, a head resting on a shoulder as they lounge by the dying fire, and now it’s March and Draco Malfoy has become friends with Harry Potter. 

 

“Have you finished the charms essay?” Hermione pins Harry with a look. The two boys stretch out on the sofa, their legs tangled together haphazardly while Draco reads a book. 

 

“Why’re you looking at me like that!” Harry asks in disbelief. 

 

“Because I  _ know  _ Draco has finished his already. You on the other hand…”

 

Draco chuckles. 

 

“I’ve only got an inch left,” Harry argues. 

 

Draco chuckles again. 

 

“Not my  _ dick  _ you wanker!” Harry flings a pillow at him and even though it makes contact, jostling the book in the blonde’s grip, it only serves to make him giggle harder. 

 

“I never said we were talking about that!” he says though a few wheezes, adjusting his hold on the pages. 

 

“It’s the only thing you ever think about,” Harry shoots and Draco kicks him in the side. 

 

“Honestly are you both five?” Hermione rolls her eyes, like she can’t believe she has to watch this display. “Draco please make sure he gets it done.” 

 

“Will do.” Following a nod of acknowledgement, Hermione turns to leave, and once she’s out of earshot, they begin snickering again. 

 

“Not my fault you always finish first,” Harry pouts and this time it’s Draco who’s throwing a pillow at him. 

They eventually suppress their cackling- not before they get a handful of judgmental looks from those passing through, but they’ve survived a war so they couldn’t care less. 

Draco wipes a tear away with the heel of his palm and when he turns his attention to Harry again, he is met with a lopsided smile. 

 

“What?” he asks, unable to stop himself from returning the smile. 

 

“She called you Draco.”

 

“Oh,” he sobers. “I suppose she did.” 

 

* * *

The sun sets over a sweet spring day, and Draco takes a deep breath. He was right. It had been a perfect day for a seeker’s match.

He and Harry trudge to the locker rooms, albeit drenched in sweat but they’re laughing and it’s the most carefree he’s felt in a long time. Maybe his whole life. A little sweat is worth it. But Harry starts shedding his clothes and Draco has to look away because any more physical exertion and he fears he’ll drop to the floor in a heap. 

Kicking off his pants, Draco frowns at a moment’s hesitation when Harry turns on the shower spray in the biggest stall- last on the right. He’s not sure if that in itself is enough of an invitation but it’s quelled by Harry giving a cheeky nod and an even cheekier grin. So Draco follows him in, hissing when the water hits his shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” he retreats, backing himself up against the wall to avoid the spray. “You shower like that all the time? You must be mad.”

 

“Nah,” Harry grins lazily. “Only after quidditch.”

 

It’s nice. No expectations- no sex. (There are never expectations with Harry though- not anymore.) Not long ago he would have laughed in the face of a fool who told him that he’d be able to share the same space as Harry Potter without hexing his face off, let alone enjoy his naked company. But here they are. 

 

Draco lets the spray wash off the grime and grit of their match, the giddy memory of the snitch fluttering in his fingers setting a content smile on his lips. It’s even better because Harry normally beats him. Not this time. 

He watches with silent appreciation as the Gryffindor lathers up his hair, then rinses the suds out, soapy streams trailing over his chest and his v-line and Draco flushes, tearing his gaze back up to Harry’s face. And then he frowns. 

 

“Are you quite alright?” he tries because Harry is staring at the spicket with that far away sort of feeling, devoid of the animation of any person in the here-and-now, including the slowness post-quidditch usually warrants. Totally still. 

 

“Hm?” Harry makes a sound of acknowledgement, but it’s not until three heavy seconds later that he swings his head in Draco’s direction. 

 

“You’re thinking. Loudly.”

 

“Oh,” he says. “Sorry.” 

 

“No sorries- what’s bothering you, huh Potter?” 

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“That’s the most pathetic attempt to deter me I’ve ever heard.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes, but offers nothing else. And that hits Draco in a funny place- at the bottom of his gut. Deep and dark and it worms its way in their. Worry. They like to bicker still, with mutual agreements to stay away from forbidden topics and maybe they should have a sit down and get that stuff out of their systems eventually. But it’s so unlike him to not offer any bicker in return. 

 

“Seriously Harry,” Draco prods with unease. “What’s wrong?” 

 

Harry screws his mouth to the side. 

And Draco gets it. They’re not best mates but they like each other well enough to take ones’ cock up the arse so excuse Draco for getting a little flighty at the fact that Harry won’t divulge this to him. Not even a scrap. 

 

“Is this casual sex? Or is this like a dating thing?” Harry blurts out and Draco feels his mouth form into an ‘O’ shape. But Harry continues before he can even answer. “I didn’t want to assume anything and upset you because I rather like you so this could be a dating thing if you wanted it to be but we never really said so I wasn’t sure but I should have explained it long ag-“

 

“Harry,” the blonde says. One word but so steadily it cuts said boy off in his tracks. For a moment it’s only the sound of the water hitting the tiles that fills the room. “I’m happy like this. Sex is brilliant. I enjoy your company. I enjoy you as a person. If you fancy me, then I’d say I fancy you and we could be dating if you wanted. But it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want.” 

 

“But I  _ do  _ want that. I-“ Harry’s pulling at his hair. 

 

“Then we’re dating,” Draco tells him softly, reaching up to free the strands of hair from their torment at Harry’s hands. “It’s not complicated.”

 

And then Harry makes this funny noise. It comes from the back of his throat, maybe a little perplexed and a little pained. There’s heat rising in his cheeks but his eyebrows are furrowed so deeply Draco wants to smooth them out. 

“But it  _ is _ ,” he laments, turning away. 

 

“Explain.”

 

“I didn’t think it would end up like this. I’m glad it did,” Harry gets out in one breath, but it’s strained like the words are cutting up his tongue on the way out. “So then I started to fancy you and I knew I had to explain this but I just kept putting it off and putting it off-“

 

“Putting what off, Harry?” 

 

“I’m-“ going stiff, he falters, glancing everywhere but Draco resolutely then he sighs. Their hands lock loosely together on their own accord. “Hermione is  _ with _ Ron. And I’m with  _ you _ . But they’re also  _ mine. _ ” 

 

Pausing for a moment, the Slytherin digests that. Then he squeezes the hand in his encouragingly. 

“Yours?”

 

“After the war we decided life was too short, too precious to let anything hold us back from being happy. Ron’s jealousy, Hermione’s insecurity- my unlovability. The world’s expectations of what is right. We decided that we would just,” he pauses to swallow. “We would just all love each other and that was that. They’re like my soulmates, Draco. And I know muggles use that word differently but they really are.” 

 

“Your… soulmates,” Draco says without intonation, a slight frown etching its way into his features. “Harry I can’t compete with soulmates.”

 

“You aren’t competing with them. I fancy you- I  _ like  _ you,” Harry emphasizes, tilting his head up to make their gazes match. “I want to be with you. You just need to know this, even if it doesn’t make sense really. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it from you if we’re dating.” 

 

“So you’re not…” Draco goes slow, the words stick like something sugary to the roof of his mouth. “You’re not dating Hermione or Ron?” 

 

“Maybe, not by definition,” he admits. “The line gets blurred in the things we do. We’ve agreed it’s confusing.” 

 

“You… kiss them?”

 

“Er. Sometimes.” 

 

“How can you love someone… have them love you back... kiss them… and not call it dating?”

 

“I dunno.”

 

Draco’s fucking freezing. It doesn’t help that the water is cold on its own but he knows that extra chill rippling down his spine is apprehension. Anxiety. Jealousy. He reaches over and bumps the knob with his closed fist, changing the temperature to mild. 

 

“Wouldn’t then, by definition, that mean,” he starts a little more icily than he meant to. “You have to get their approval before dating me?” 

 

“Draco,” Harry says breathily. “Draco you’ve had their approval. They like you. Ever since you apologized- ever since I told them you make me happy.” 

 

Make him happy.

Suddenly Draco’s eleven again. Eleven and holding out his hand in front of his whole class, his hopes and dreams to befriend the boy of legend who, as an infant, accomplished something greater than anything Draco would in his entire life. Eleven and rebuffed and filled with envy and with a penchant for bullying. Eleven with the chance again to do this right. 

 

“I didn’t want this to upset you,” cutting him out of his thoughts, Harry tells him earnestly and places a hand on Draco’s cheek. “I get it’s different and weird. You shouldn’t have to feel jealous, if you do I understand but know I like you and care about you. I have for months now, and none of that has been a lie.” 

 

The silence takes a place between them- it needs to. It’s required to. It lets Draco take a few moments to let everything sink in. What it means for him. And honestly he wants almost nothing more than to step out of the shower because he’s becoming a prune but it’s only fitting to let this conversation end where it began. He takes a deep breath through the nose. 

 

“When  _ isn’t _ it weird and different with you?” he snorts halfheartedly, placing a hand over the one atop his cheek. “I can’t say I understand fully. But I understand it enough. And I’m okay with it.”

 

“You are?” Harry asks breathlessly and he’s got little stars in his eyes. 

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out so helplessly and Draco grins. 

 

“I don’t see why not. We are dating, after all.” 

 

* * *

Then suddenly it’s the summer and they’re about to graduate. The oppressive heat is inescapable, but it’s all the more reason to shed their layers. No sweaters, tops unbuttoned almost indecently, and it’s hitting him so fast that Draco realizes this is it. 

 

Whatever  _ it _ is, he’s not sure of the word. The end of Hogwarts for him, fair. But the beginning of what, he doesn’t know. Technically he wouldn’t have to work. There was enough money in places the ministry couldn’t touch, that Draco will live comfortably and so will his grandchildren, if he even chooses to produce spawn in the first place. 

 

Will it mean he has to stop seeing Harry? He hopes not. 

 

As discreet as possible, he watches Harry rifle through his mail at breakfast. Any sort of fan letters won’t make it past the wards, but there seems to be a hefty stack anyway- there always is. Places trying to recruit him, and up until now, Draco had assumed Harry just incendio’d the letters because he already knew what he was going to do with his life. Be an auror. But when he catches a glimpse of the Ministry of Magic seal going up in flames, his eyes widen. 

 

“Shouldn’t you read that? We just took our NEWTS and graduation is not as far away as you think.” 

 

“Why should I?” Harry shakes his head, continuing to discard of his mail with flourish. The crackle of the fire is barely audible over the chatter of the room and for that, Draco is thankful. “They don’t care about  _ my  _ future. They just want my name and face.”

 

“So you’re… not going to work for the ministry?”

 

“No,” Harry confirms. All his mail has been burnt to a crisp. “Hermione’s been in a twist about it ever since I told her and Ron last night. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, finally decided. She’ll come around. Besides,” he crooks his head and flashes Hermione smile because she’s bound to be listening by now. “She’ll do great things in the Ministry herself. They don’t need me.”

 

“What’ll you do then?” Draco asks because that’s all he can think to do as he pushes his eggs around with a fork. 

 

“I’m not sure. Do  _ you  _ know what you’re going to do?”

 

“I suppose not,” he drawls in retort, not at all impressed by Harry’s challenging him but he expects no different. “Find somewhere to settle, mope around, attempt to explain to my mother why she’s not getting grandchildren.”

 

There’s a snort. 

 

“She’ll be shattered.”

 

“Completely morose,” Draco agrees, spearing the last bits of his breakfast with a fork, chewing it down, and pushing the plate away. 

 

“Will you two be joining us for studying after classes tonight? In the library?” the blonde spares a glance at Hermione as he moves to stand, slinging his bag over his shoulder and wincing at how it weighs his body down. Poor Ron being dragged into the ‘us’ again. 

 

“I was thinking of just studying in my room. Sound good Draco?” Harry asks him in a way as slow as the three of them like to lollygag before their first class. They can stand to be late. Their reputation is spotless, unlike his. 

 

“Sure-“

 

“Blimey, mate. Thanks for the warning,” Ron wrinkles his nose. “Wouldn’t have wanted to be walking in on that.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” And Draco bids them all a silent farewell. They throw smiles at his wave and don’t even question it, because maybe they can tell. He’s got himself all wrapped up in his thoughts now. A good lap around the halls wouldn’t hurt to clear a troubled mind concerned with the future, as long as it permits him to be on time for class. 

 

* * *

“So the great Draco Malfoy is really planning to go off and die an heirless wizard, huh?”

 

“Of course,” Draco indulges him, nodding along. Harry pushes the door to the common room open with his shoulder, the hinges creaking in protest or at least in begging for some oil, and he props it open, allowing Draco to enter first because Draco is the one carrying the books like a dutiful student would. “What else would I do?”

 

“Do you really not have plans?”

 

Draco bites back a quip. Normally, any conversation nowadays would be prime real estate to throw in a sarcastic comment, especially with Harry Potter, now that they’re on good terms. But this is not the time. 

He holds it back because Harry is serious. Talking about the future like this is one thing the brave savior tends to procrastinate, or avoid entirely. Any time it’s brought up he cracks a heart melting grin and says something witty and all too distracting from the subject matter. Even at breakfast with the burning of the letter, the constant comments of ‘I’ll figure it out.’ So now that Harry is bringing it up on his own, seemingly wanting to figure it out, and not putting it off is. Well. Rather off putting. 

 

“No,” Draco says slowly as he takes the lead. They shuffle past Seamus and Dean, Luna (who shouldn’t even be here but okay) and Neville who all occupy some part of the couches. “Not like any place’ll have me anyway, even if I was second to none with my qualifications.” 

 

“What would you do then, if that wasn’t stopping you?”

 

“I try not to linger on what I can’t have.”

But as soon as the seed is planted in his mind, Draco can do nothing to stop it. He stumbles up one of two small steps, then pauses, as if stumbling is much too plebeian of a thing for him to be doing, and the fact that he’s done it is shocking. 

 

He can’t help but think of what he could have had if he hadn’t been so stupid. Everything. Anything. Something dark swims inside him, and Harry knows he’s pressed a nerve. He reaches over and dutifully squeezes Draco’s shoulder, tucking their bodies slightly closer. 

“We’re going to my room yeah?”

 

Draco readjusts the books in his grip. 

“Yeah.” 

 

The door shuts with a resounding click, oppressive but falling short of the weight that bares down on him when Harry blurts out-

“Move in with me?”

 

Two of Draco’s textbooks tilt, and they slide off the pile defiantly. The blonde is cringing, bracing himself for the impact, but Harry is ready. His wand somehow never failing to be at his side when he needs it most. 

The books levitate back onto the pile. 

 

“It’s just an idea,” he blabbers on, taking the tomes from his seemingly speechless boyfriend, and discarding them on the desk to be used for all of but ten minutes once they finally agree to start studying. “I own Grimmauld Place. It just needs a bit of dusting. I was thinking me, Ron and ‘Mione might be moving there but I don’t think I’d feel right without you there. I dunno. Think about it?” 

 

“I-“

 

“You could do lots of reading,” Harry carries on without even noticing he had almost been interrupted. His face holds a slight flush now, vision downcast and searching for anywhere to rest but on Draco. As though a possible rejection would be easier to handle as long as it’s not seen. “I went through it a while ago and there’s this big cozy room, I think it’s a study. And it reminds me of you. And- you could have your own room to sleep in if you wanted or you could sleep with me but there are plenty of rooms if-“

 

“Harry,” Draco blurts out and he memorizes the lines of the wrinkles that form around Harry’s eyes when they’re surprised. He  commits them to the part of his memory that stores sappy things. “Yes.”

 

“Yes to thinking about it, or yes to moving in with us?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

A simple ‘yes’ to encompass everything through graduation and jittery nerves and stuffing belongings into cases and brushing the dust off a forgotten but new home. One ‘yes’ right in front of him, guiding him through all the would be bickering and irritation, and Draco lets it guide him.

 

* * *

Draco sits on a stool at the little island in their kitchen, his bare feet catching on the wooden bars so his knees are bent to keep from hitting the countertop. 

 

God what a fucking whirlwind it’s been these past few weeks. It seems the perpetual exhaustion doesn’t want to go away. 

 

He props his head up, chin resting in hand, when Ron comes down. It’s unusual that he’s the first one out of those three up- it’s mostly Hermione, maybe Harry, but Ron sleeps like a log. Snores like one too. 

 

“Morning,” Ron mutters to him in greeting as he makes his way over to the coffee pot. He’s got a t-shirt and pants but no trousers, and Draco is just taking a passive look as he walks by when he realizes that. Well. Ron is fucking hung. 

He’s not hard or anything but Draco knows- he can tell. He himself is not too shabby, thanks to his tall stature. But Ron is tall  _ and _ filled out and Draco’s not sure why he didn’t realize it sooner.

Sure they all live together and they’ve all got a weird mutual thing going or really it’s we-all-share-harry-because-we-love-him-and-he-deserves-to-be-loved-and-happy-so-let’s-just-go-with-it. Draco thinks that maybe Harry and Hermione get along if Ron has overcome his insecurities and maybe even Harry gets on with Ron- Draco thinks he would probably be welcome to the party. No, in fact, he knows he would be because Harry has tried to bring it up a few times but Draco just gets flustered and changes the topic. He’s never considered it though. Not until now. 

 

More focused on brewing instant coffee, Ron has turned and Draco has a prime view of his arse. Determinedly he looks anywhere but, and tries to will his blush away. His blue flannel pajama bottoms feel a little too warm now but he can’t exactly strip in the middle of their kitchen, half hard and not expect to be discovered. 

 

“Sleep well?” he asks, trying to distract himself, imagining the horrible morning breath Ron probably has right now. 

 

“Mh?” Turning his head over his shoulder, Ron blinks blearily. While he nods in silent assent, he reaches down to scratch an itch on his torso, lifting the hem of his shirt and exposing a sliver of freckled skin just big enough that Draco flushes all over again. 

 

There are few heavy beats of silence until Ron’s coffee is ready. The machine beeps, and once his cup is poured, Ron sits across from him at the island. 

“You alright?” he asks after taking a long sip. 

 

Draco swears at himself. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

His face must show that he’s a little bit far away now. Even though Ron’s sitting, Draco still has that cheeky glimpse in his mind and it’s not going away, making him stiff and honestly it’s rather uncomfortable. He tries to be discreet, lifting his head up and pressing a hand into his lap, crossing his legs. 

This is weird. He’s not a ‘horny in the morning’ kind of bloke. Despite being forced to rise early as a child, the blonde is still most definitely not a morning person. He’s grumpy most days if anything, too miserable or tired until he gets going. Sometimes having to bat Harry off him when he does actually agree with his morning wood. And he’s certainly not one to get a hard on from Ronald Weasley. More odd things have happened in retrospect, he supposes, like the fact that he’s living here with all 3 of them anyway. 

 

“You sure?” Ron presses. Draco can’t tell if he’s being nosey or polite. 

 

Draco nods, taking a slow breath through his nostrils and letting his eyes fall shut. 

 

And Ron sputters on his coffee. 

Draco opens his eyes to find Ron a bit red in the face, wiping his drink away with the back of his hand, so Draco quirks an eyebrow. 

 

“Sorry,” he forces out in one breath. “Are you-? I mean,” he sets his cup down hesitantly, still holding the handle. “That’s just. You made a face and I-

 

“A face?”

 

“Y- yeah. You just. Made a face that Harry makes when he-“ 

Ron cuts himself off.

 

Draco hits him with a look of puzzlement, but then he knows Ron can see the gears turning in his head and the lightbulb going off when he realizes what he had just looked like. Draco’s been intimate enough with Harry to know what kind of face Ron is talking about. Ron’s eyes flicker downward. 

 

“I see,” Draco says dumbly because he’s been caught and he didn’t even need to strip. Then he huffs, the heat returning to his cheeks. 

 

“Sorry.” The apology gets repeated. “I just- is-“

 

“Is my dick standing at attention?” Draco finishes for him bluntly, his mouth working ahead of his brain in deciding he won’t let himself be embarrassed by it. “Yes, Ron. How unobtuse of you to notice.” 

 

The screech of wooden stool legs against tile flooring, and fleeing footsteps are the last sounds the kitchen hears for a while. 

 

They’d all had a nice dinner, and played a game of cards. Then Draco had gone up to shower while the three of them chatted amicably in the living room. 

Now Harry’s fucking him into the bed. Slow and deep, one of his legs is slung over Harry’s shoulder, the other bent off to the side. 

Draco feels every nerve in his body with Harry grinding into him like this, head turned, mewling and clawing at the sheets. He bucks his hips up, but it doesn’t make Harry go faster. He just leans down and places a deep, wet kiss to the exposed column of Draco’s neck, sucking at the skin there because he knows it will make him moan and melt even further. 

 

“F- fuck,” he swears when Harry reaches between them, loosely wrapping his hand around Draco’s neglected cock and giving a few tugs. 

 

It drives him mad. The way Harry knows just how to work him, make him feel like he’s on the verge of release for ages, never actually growing closer. 

 

“Ron told me what happened this morning,” Harry murmurs into his ear but it’s accompanied by a particularly deep thrust that sends Draco reeling. He has to take a few breaths, still a bit addled by his sensory systems overflowing. 

 

“What?” he manages to pant out, and then urges Harry to  _ move faster please.  _

 

Harry does the opposite, slowing his pace to something laughable and Draco cries out writhing uselessly in an attempt to get relief. 

 

“In the kitchen,” Harry explains, and after a few beats Draco remembers. 

 

“If you’re going to harass me about it  _ now  _ you can get off me,” Draco snaps back, suddenly embarrassed and more than a little frustrated. 

 

“Never,” Harry assures him. He leans down to kiss Draco and it takes a few stubborn seconds until he gives into it, tasting the sweat on Harry’s upper lip. 

Then he picks up the pace again. 

“You think he’s fit?” 

Draco lets out a groan. 

 

“It’s okay if you do,” Harry continues, and Draco lets the words sink in, on the receiving end of a few more thrusts but then he mumbles to Harry that they need to switch positions- the back of his thigh has fallen asleep. 

 

Draco winces when Harry pulls out of him, no longer a stranger to the more obscene sounds that happen during sex. But his limbs are heavy and it’s going to be hard to move. 

Sensing this, Harry helps lift him up, then gently spins him around. They’re both up on their knees, Draco’s back flush against Harry’s chest and he can feel the cock prodding at his arse again. 

 

“This ok?” Harry asks him and Draco nods, reaching one arm out to grip the headboard, the other goes back to thread through Harry’s absolutely wrecked hair. 

His cock catches then presses in, and Draco’s feeling all sorts of warm and full that he’s almost forgotten about their discussion. Almost. But if Harry is anything, it’s stubborn and persistent, and Draco isn’t too keen on the idea of being caught off guard when he’s about to come. 

 

“Fit,” Draco allows, nodding gently. “Sure.” Draco bites his lip when Harry grabs his dick again. 

 

“Yeah?” Harry thrusts up into him with a grunt, not missing a beat. 

 

“He’s bloody  _ hung, _ ” Draco admits, the memory flashing in his mind and he gasps, barely audible over the sounds of protest the bed is making. 

 

“He is,” Harry chuckles in agreement. One of his hands snakes it’s way up, resting against Draco’s sternum and pulling him close. 

 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we’re talking about Ron while you’re trying to fuck me?”

 

“ _ Trying?”  _ Harry asks, punctuating it with a powerful thrust and Draco moans, shaking his head. 

 

“Fucking, present tense,” he amends wantonly. 

 

“And maybe a little, not the weirdest,” Harry answers. 

 

That’s final enough, at least for Draco it is. If Harry really wants to talk about this it can wait until after they’re done. 

Shifting his knees slightly further apart for balance, Draco begins moving back into Harry’s thrusts, tilting his hips to encourage them. Admittedly he finds it a bit frustrating to be reduced to a pile of nothing while his partner is able to maintain such composure. 

 

“Come on,” Draco growls, and then chokes out another moan when Potter’s cock hits his prostate. “Harry-“

 

After a few more equally aggressive thrusts, the hot, tight coil in Draco’s gut snaps and he’s driven over the edge. He whines, coating part of his own stomach and some of the pillows, riding out every wave until a full body exhaustion hits him like a wall of bricks. 

His knees buckling, he slumps against Harry, but that’s okay because Harry’s got enough muscle on him to handle it- hoisting up Draco and slamming into him. The grunting and shaky breaths against the shell of his ear, along with the increasingly erratic thrusts let Draco know that Harry is not far behind him. 

 

“Fuck, yes, yes,” the blonde chants out, broken and spent but still loving every second. 

 

“Gonna come-“

 

“In me, do it,” Draco tells him, nodding enthusiastically, beads of sweat collecting in his clavicle and at his hairline. 

He clamps down on Harry the best he can manage, and apparently it’s enough because Harry stutters and groans, releasing inside Draco until they’re both worn out, and they collapse in a heap onto the bed, careful to avoid the semen coated pillows. 

Wincing again when Harry pulls out, unmistakably there’s cum dribbling out of him and onto his thighs and Draco wrinkles his nose- he’d just taken a shower and now he’ll have to take another. A small price to pay, however. 

 

“You alright?” Harry asks him after a few heavy exhales. 

 

“Yeah.” And really, it’s true. However he’s quickly becoming tired of being wedged uncomfortably like this, wanting to stretch out completely. For a moment he grumbles then reaches up, grabbing the pillows by the corner of their cases and flipping them off the bed one by one. They land on the floor with a dull thud, and then satisfied, Draco moves to take up more room. Out of all the places to have spunk, his hair is the least preferred. 

 

Grinning his Gryffindor grin, Harry chuckles then rakes his eyes over Draco’s body- he can practically feel that gaze taking him in from head to toe. 

Draco smirks, shifting his legs apart slightly and even in the dim light he can see Harry’s warm skin flush even darker. Maybe before he would be embarrassed to be seen like this- absolutely a mess and his soft cock resting against his hip. But after having another bloke’s prick up your arse, you get less modest around him over time. 

 

“So fucking hot,” Harry mumbles into the sheets. 

 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Draco smiles back, beckoning Harry up with his hand. “C’mere.” 

Obediently, he does just that. Their limbs aren’t exactly as cooperative but they do well enough, kissing for a few drawn out moments, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s hip bone, until Draco sighs through his nose. 

“Run us a bath?” 

 

The water is just warm enough, the smell of something sweet curling through the air as they sit pressed together in the tub. It’s not the biggest, maybe a little outdated, though something that miniscule won’t stop them. 

Toweling at Harry’s shoulders with the washcloth, watching the beads of water run down the swell of his shoulder blades and disappear over his spine, Draco washes away the traces of sex from the both of them, save for the hickey that is blooming on his neck.

And Harry’s watching him. Got those green eyes trained on his every movement and Draco can practically see the questions swirling under the surface. 

 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly even though he kind of knows because he doesn’t want this strange thing between them. 

 

“Earlier.” Their eyes meet and the blonde can’t deny it when Harry says “ _ you know.”  _

 

“Yes, well,” he lifts the washcloth out of the water, the sound of excess dripping fills the air for a moment. “If I could forget it I would.”

 

“Why?” Harry asks him in that almost innocent way. “It’s not bad.”

 

“I’m not like you,” Draco reminds him in a tone that is soft, unwanting to start an argument. “I was brought up differently. This is still strange to me. I can hear that part of my brain telling me that it’s wrong because it’s unorthodox, even though I know better.” 

 

“I know. I’m proud of how well you’re doing. It makes me happy.” 

 

Draco stills. “That’s… that’s all I could ever want really.” 

 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable talking about this,” Harry says hurriedly, resting a hand on Draco’s bicep. It’s calloused, squeezing reassuringly. 

 

“I get why you want to,” the blonde starts. “I just don’t understand how it doesn’t make you upset. Jealous.”

 

There’s a pause. 

“Do you get jealous of them?”

 

“It’s different with them,” Draco shakes his head. “You’ve always had them and I would never dare to think they’d be anywhere but with you. That’s what feels right. But sometimes I feel like I. Like I don’t…” 

 

“Draco you belong here with us. I care about you  _ just as much  _ as I care about them.”

 

“Impossible.”

 

“I always have,” Harry reassures him, his eyes flickering down to Draco’s chest so Draco follows his stare until he pales at the sight of the silvery scars running all across his torso. He swallows thickly. “Even if not in the same way.” 

 

Something in Draco shifts, like he’s considering fleeing from the bathroom right then and there, and Harry must see it, because he reaches over and grabs Draco by the wrist, tugging him closer, water sloshing out of the tub and onto the floor. They’re close as it is, but now Draco’s slotted in between his legs, chest to chest and his free hand is sandwiched between them, right against the spot where he can feel Harry’s heart beating. It’s constant, and soothing, especially so because he can recall the time Harry laid limp in Hagrid’s arms dead to the world like it was yesterday 

 

“I’m not going to kick you out or replace you or decide one day that this isn’t right. Because it is. So it’s okay if you get close to them. It’s okay if you get a hard on for Ron at seven o’clock in the morning in our kitchen. Really Draco, everything’s okay.” 

 

“Okay.”

 

Although the water is charmed to never go cold, he finds that a shiver still runs down his spine. It’s for an entirely different reason though- it’s when in the midst of sorting the emotional turmoil inside himself, Harry mumbles something against the sensitive part of his neck, just below his ear. 

“They ask about you, you know. What you like.”

 

“What I  _ like? _ ” Draco’s voice cracks. 

 

“Sure,” Harry chuckles lowly and he can feel the vibrations in their chests. “How you like your tea, or how you like me to go down on you, or how you turn into a puddle when I touch you certain places.”

 

“Oh Merlin-“

 

“I haven’t told them much but at the very least you shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he’s practically purring now, speaking at such a low pitch, and in between kissing his way down Draco’s neck. “You’re bloody hot and they’d be blind not to-“

 

“Potter I just came ten minutes ago I don’t know if I can  _ get it up again _ -“ 

 

“I know you can. And it’s ‘Potter’ now?” he smirks, reaching down into the water and trailing his fingers over Draco’s still sensitive prick. 

 

“Yes,” Draco grunts out through a whine. “It’s Potter when you’re being a git.” 

 

“You’d tell me to stop if you wanted me to, right?” 

 

He heaves in a few short breaths, then blushing, nods, struggling to focus on anything other than his dick that’s trying to get hard again. 

“Yes,” he concedes. “Yes.” 

 

“Then humor me?” 

 

“You’re as horny as a fucking rabbit,” Draco seethes and that’s the closest thing Potter is going to get to agreement. He drops his forehead onto Potter’s shoulder, gritting his teeth. 

 

Idly, Harry keeps stroking him, and though he’ll be struggling to get come for the next few minutes, the sensation is enough to make Draco curl his toes. 

 

“Relax,” Potter says in that way of his that makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world. “Go back to this morning. What were you thinking about, with Ron. Tell me.” 

 

His shoulders are so fucking tense- he’s going to need a back massage after this. 

Scoffing, Draco tries to make the memory come back, and surprisingly it does without might fight. 

“I was wondering how big he was. I could see it through his fucking pants and I could just  _ tell _ ,” he forces out. 

 

“You wanted to see him hard?”

 

“... Mhm.” 

The recollection washes over him, and he inhaled a few times through his nose. Now not only his back, but his neck is hurting from keeping his head down but he refuses to lift it, to give Potter the satisfaction of seeing his face like this. When his hand is  _ still  _ working Draco’s dick. 

 

“You want him to fuck you-?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Draco’s mouth supplies before the thought can even fully settle into his mind. His fingernails dig into Harry’s rib cage, and he shakes his head. “That’s- you. Only you.” 

 

“Only me,” Harry echos thoughtfully in agreement and he gives Draco a squeeze, making him squirm.  _ Now  _ he’s  _ really  _ hard. 

“Would you want him to watch? While I touch you?”

 

“ _ Oh _ -“ This time, Draco’s mind allows that idea to work it’s way in and actually, it’s kind of appealing. His eyes are clamped shut, brows furrowed. “Would he like that?”

 

“Definitely.” Harry’s hand is moving faster, twisting. “To watch you come apart. He’d touch himself for us.” 

 

“Fuck-“ 

Draco gasps, and he’s barely had enough time to even get his dick up but the image is doing something to him that’s speeding the process up- he feels like a teenager all over again- although technically he is, albeit pushing it- about to come after a haphazard handjob and he thrashes, trying to suppress it but Harry just whispers encouragements into his ear and he’s done for.  

He takes a few shuddering breaths to come back to his body- now the water is  _ dirty _ and he wants to get out. Lifting his head, Draco wipes the sweat from his face then reaches over, pulling at the release to start draining the tub. 

 

“Well,” he says shakily, and Harry is watching him with unwavering attention. “That was certainly something.” 

 

“Okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Draco agrees and they stand, knees screaming in protest. “Okay if you give me a back massage without trying to get me off again and bring me some Earl Grey.” 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Draco pulls a black turtleneck over his head- it’s not exactly cold but he knows he can get away with pinning it on his thin stature. Plus it covers up the mark on his neck which, normally would be a bad thing, but thinking about what Harry said in the bathtub is kind of. Confusing. Emotionally. It makes his chest tighten in a weird way and he wants to scrub the turmoil away but he can’t because that would mean being open about how he feels. So the next best thing is to throw a metaphorical blanket over it and pretend it’s not even there. 

He steps into his trousers and slides a few rings on, careful not to make too much of a racket because Harry is still fast asleep. Once his socks and shoes are on, Draco spells the temperature of the house to be about two degrees colder and hopes nobody will notice, that it will be the same temperature when he gets back. 

The shopping list is decent, which he’s thankful for because it’s his turn to go. Initially he had turned his nose up at muggle supermarkets but now there’s an odd comfort about them. So he takes his time there. Once he’d heard it referred to as ‘people watching’- that sounds a bit creepy but it’s so easy to get lost in watching the way they all go about their lives. He wonders what jobs they have, what their names are, and how they live oblivious to the world he grew up in. It’s fascinating. 

 

Wordlessly he enters Grimmauld Place, the wards tingling around him in greeting, and he toes off his shoes because his hands are full with grocery bags. 

 

“Draco,” Harry says the moment he enters the kitchen. They’re all sitting at the island. “You’re back.”

 

“Yes,” he nods then throws a quick glance to the clock on the microwave- a wave of guilt floods through him. He’d been gone longer than he realized. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

 

“No worries mate,” Ron tells him and Draco gives the three of them a sheepish smile. “We were just trying to decide on what film to watch tonight. Any input?”

 

“Anything but comedy,” Draco wrinkles his nose, speaking firmly. “I can’t stand those.”

He begins to set the bags on the counter and Harry gets up to help, his hand resting on the small of Draco’s back as he comes up next to him. 

“Here, I got it,” he grins and starts taking things out of the bag, to put them away. When he levitates a package of crackers across the kitchen and into the cabinet though, Draco frowns and pokes a finger roughly into his side. 

 

“Don’t use magic on the food! Makes it taste weird.”

 

“I’m not levitating the  _ crackers _ , I’m levitating the  _ box _ .” 

 

“Sure you are.”

 

Harry sticks out his tongue and Draco sticks his out in return. 

The wooden stools creak under the change in weight as Hermione stands and Ron follows suit, their combined efforts making the restock of the kitchen go much more efficiently. 

 

“Did you get any good snacks?” Ron mutters when they’re done, beginning to rifle through the cabinets and Draco’s mouth hangs open incredulously. 

 

“Were- were you not paying attention? You just helped put everything away!” 

 

“No actually,” Ron snorts “I was too distracted by the goo-goo face Harry was making at you the whole time.”

 

“Goo-goo fa-“

 

“I do  _ not _ make goo-goo faces Ron,” Harry cuts in sternly, but the knowing smile Hermione is giving them all suggests the opposite. 

 

“Regardless,” Draco cringes, waving his hand dismissively, and fishing his keys out of his pocket and tossing them into the dish where all the keys go. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something satisfactory. I got everything on the list. Just don’t touch the apples, those are mine.” 

 

“Trust me,” Hermione smirks and she crosses her arms. “Ronald has never touched a piece of fruit in his life.”

 

“I eat fruit!” Ron protests and urgently moves to defend himself like his life depends on it, but he accidentally bangs his head on the top of the cupboard on the way out with a swear. 

 

“On top of pound cake and with whipped cream does  _ not  _ count.”

 

“Oh well I guess they call it  _ strawberry _ shortcake for shits and giggles then huh?”

 

His eyes twinge in pain with how hard he rolls them. Letting the two of them continue to bicker, and Harry to watch from the sidelines, Draco slips out of the kitchen and into the living room. To stay in there would likely mean to see it resolved with an obnoxious kiss or they’ll be fuming for hours and either way he’s not interested in a second more. He feels fortunate enough that he hasn’t been singled out yet about what happened yesterday morning, save for Harry but only in the privacy of their bedroom. It’s had to have spread around the house like wildfire now and he doesn’t want Hermione accusing him of anything one way or another. 

 

Draco busies himself with going over to the bookshelf and tilting his head to take in the spines. He finds the layer of dust upon running his finger on them is minimal, since Hermione frequents these just enough. 

 

“Hey.”

A soft floats in from the doorway and Draco turns to face Harry, a contented smile on his face. 

 

“Had enough of their squabbling?” he returns the easy grin with a smirk. It’s charming though. 

 

“Or maybe I just wanted to be with you.”

Harry’s propped himself up in the door frame, leaning against the old and ornate wood. Both his hands are in his jeans pockets but when he stands to cross the room, he takes them out, and Draco’s heart does something reminiscent of a backflip. Those weird, or rather unsettling feelings are back and he doesn’t know what else to do but cover them up. 

 

“Is that so?”

 

“It is so.”

Standing next to him, Harry rests his hand on the small of Draco’s back just like he did in the kitchen. But this time he worries his thumb across the wool of Draco’s jumper, catching each vertebrae with his finger. 

 

“What’re you looking for?” Harry asks and his eyes flit over to the bookshelf but only for a second. They land on the blonde again, and Draco finds himself shivering. 

 

“Just something. Was thinking of sitting down to have a nice read.” 

 

“Oh? What would make it a nice read compared to a regular read?”

 

“Thought maybe I’d wrap myself in a blanket, sit in my favorite chair. Maybe play some classical.” 

 

The vibrations of Harry’s hum of acknowledgement are right against his neck, and the lips curl into a deeper smile against the skin there. 

“Sounds nice,” Harry comments passively, his hand then coming up to rub against the downy hairs of Draco’s undercut and he swallows the lump in his throat. 

 

He must be too slow on the upkeep. Draco can’t make his shoulders go lax fast enough and Harry notices the tense posture, pulling away with a concoction of concern and confusion brewing on his visage. 

“You alright?”

 

“Yes,” Draco nods and curses himself silently when it doesn’t sound convincing enough. Hermione would call it lying but he likes to call it ‘embellishing the truth’. But really, he’s mostly okay. Still sorting out the funny parts inside of himself that are all tangled in knots after yesterday and while he knows Harry would be more than happy to be a part of that tangle, he’d rather keep it to himself. He stops Harry in his tracks from saying anything else, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss that was supposed to be short and chaste but he lets it linger because he’s weak and he can’t help himself. His thumb finds its way home on Harry’s hip. 

“I really did want to read though.” 

 

“Of course,” Harry mouths under his breath. 

When they kiss a second time, Draco cups his jaw with a potent tenderness, trying to pour all the words of how he’s feeling into it. That’s not how kisses work though, and when he pulls away he fears he’s left Harry more confused than before, if the look on his face is anything to go by. 

Wordlessly he plucks a few books off the shelf, the ones that look the most recently read in hopes they’ll be interesting, and heads out of- definitely not fleeing- the room. 

Then up the stairs, two at a time, he shuts himself in his study, but doesn’t lock it. 

Muggle classical fills the room from an old phonograph, a fleece blanket wrapped around him, and his worries drowned out by the musings of the Beat Generation. 

There’s the occasional clatter or the edges of a voice that fight their way through but they’re barely anything to Draco when he’s invested himself in his reading. 

He bites on his thumbnail, working it between his teeth- a habit his mother had given him hell for- when a knocking derails his thoughts.

 

“Come in,” Draco calls distractedly, finishing a line then reaching over to turn the volume down. The door creaks open to his left but when he turns his head fully he comes face to face with a head of bushy hair that he least expected to see. 

 

“Are you in any place to stop?” she asks him wittingly. “Dinner will be soon. Maybe twenty minutes.”

 

“Wh- dinner?” Swiveling his head to the window, he spells the curtain up and the hues of a fading sunset fill his eyes. No oranges or pinks. Just the last rays of fading light and dark blues and black paint the sky. He can even see the stars if he squints. “Merlin I didn’t realize it was so late.” 

 

“You were quite invested in…” Hermione widens her eyes, looking down at the book in his lap and, he assumes, trying to decipher its title from just the edges of the cover. “Ginsberg? He’s an American Muggle you know.” 

 

“I did gather that.” His frown is subtle, only a slight downward twitch of muscles. “You should have gotten me to help with cooking.”

 

“It’s okay. That’s Ron’s strong suit. You’re more geared toward…”

 

“Being absolutely useless,” he finishes with a snort. 

 

Her eyebrows furrow but he doesn’t see it, resolutely keeping his eyes trained on the pages in front of him. 

“I wasn’t going to say that.” 

 

“No matter. Should I come down now or in a little while?”

 

Instead of answering, which he finds to be very rude, Hermione crosses the floor and perches on the arm of his chair. Sitting there she doesn’t face him, but it’s still close enough to be personal. 

“Are you alright?” 

 

“Other than a bit peckish? Sure, why not?”

 

The hand on his shoulder is more surprising than it should be, given that he’s been caught in a fib and once caught, it all falls apart. 

 

“Harry was moping today. After he followed you from out of the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if you had a real fight or-“

 

“No fight,” he assures her, hesitating and then, not before memorizing his page number, closes the book. “I just needed room to think.” 

 

“Think?”

 

“Think,” Draco repeats warily. 

 

“Well-“

 

“I know I’ve apologized to you,” he blurts abruptly, resting his hand on top of hers that’s on his shoulder and even Hermione wasn’t expecting that because she silences herself. “I know we’ve all made our peace. But sometimes I still feel like I don’t belong. And then things happen and-“

 

“Nobody’s judging you Draco.” And he hates how she can speak that like she can see right through him, like he’s transparent. 

 

“This isn’t an emotional vacuum. Judgement exists whether we want it to or not.”

 

“Okay. Nobody is judging you unfairly or harshly. Today has been fine and it will continue to be,” she smiles at him gently but it’s full of a sympathy he couldn’t even begin to explain. “Just don’t bottle up too much.” 

Then, as though she’s battling with herself, Hermione goes quiet and a heavy pause takes up the space between them. Something in her flickers. She leans across the gap and presses a chaste kiss to the height of his cheekbone and no other words than  _ forgiveness  _ and  _ acceptance  _ wash through his brain. 

 

“You can come down or I could send Harry up with a plate for you if you like?” 

 

“Yes,” Draco hears himself utter from far away. “That would be nice.” 

 

* * *

The house seems bigger when one of them is gone. It seems massive on the off chance that all three of them are away and Draco is left to stare at the empty corners and fight his own ghosts. 

Hermione’s been gone all day but Ron had only meant to stop quickly into the joke shop to offer an extra hand even though it’s not technically his day to work. Draco understands it’s part of his coping though, no matter how difficult it might be to see one face without its counterpart. 

Harry though… Draco’s not sure. They’ve been doing this funny dance around each other all week  -that began when Harry brought his plate up for dinner, punctuated it with a soft kiss on the cheek, then left- and that’s mostly Draco’s fault because all he can do is watch himself push them all away. So Harry had murmured softly to him that he was going out so not to worry, and was there anything he wanted Harry to pick up on the way home? 

No, Draco shakes his head and his throat constricts at the distance between them. No he doesn’t need anything from the store. 

 

Ron’s home first. And Draco forces himself to ignore the unease that’s climbing in his body, wondering when the redhead is going to corner him about what happened in the kitchen. It hasn’t happened yet, but the Slytherin is expecting it inevitably. Even if Harry had said it was okay, he still gets an anxious tightness when he thinks about it. 

 

“Harry’s not back yet?” is instead what Ron says to him, popping his head into the doorway to the living room. He wipes a suspicious purple goo off his face. Draco doesn’t want to know what sort of dastardly weasley prank products are in the works. 

 

“No,” Draco answers quietly, looking away from his book only fleetingly. 

 

He’s been curled up on the couch for the better part of the day, swaddled in a fleece blanket. His feet are tucked under the rest of his body and he knows they’ll be asleep with pins and needles when he finally stands, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

There’s shuffling in the kitchen, and then Ron’s lingering in the doorway again. 

Balancing what is, effectively, a full course meal in his arms, he pauses. Then as if he’s made up his mind, Ron pads over the couch. It’d be a lie to say Draco’s heart wasn’t hammering with every step closer, but he keeps the rapidly raging pulse down and tries not to flee. 

 

“Can I?” Ron asks as he attempts to gesture awkwardly to the couch, the food in his arms making it difficult to do so. “Sit down, I mean. Do you mind?”

 

Draco snorts like he’s in control of himself.

“Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. But no, I don’t mind.” 

 

And so Ron does. 

The couch gives under his weight, but doesn’t break, and by that Draco is almost surprised. It’s not an insult by any stretch- Ron is just. Big. He makes Draco’s generous six foot stature look pathetic and this train of thought is getting dangerous, leading him to the one from that fateful morning in the kitchen, so Draco scowls at himself and makes his eyes read the words on the page in front of him, even if they don’t reach his brain.

And if Draco could make himself be slightly less absorbed in determinedly not embarrassing himself again, he’d notice Ron isn’t faring much better in terms of awkwardness. 

 

Every few bites he stops and opens his mouth, gaping like a fish and trying to make the right thing come out. He wants to be considerate- keyword  _ wants.  _ Not because anybody is putting him up to it, but because he genuinely respects Draco and doesn’t want this rift between them. They’re living together, under the same roof, and at this point they do more than tolerate each other. But Ron, as Hermione so kindly puts, has the emotional range of a teaspoon. It’s not true, and admittedly did hurt to hear in the beginning, so this. This is him working on that. 

Ron gapes for a few more seconds, but then decides that words are still not his forte. He shoves a crisp into his mouth to shut himself up, should any unapproved sentences make their way out. 

 

Draco is fit. He’s not wrong to admit that. It helped that Harry had filled him in, but Ron can definitely see it now. 

The low light of the room casts fuzzy shadows over the blonde’s features- what were once called sharp in a distasteful manner are certainly more tasteful now. His jaw is pointed and his neck is exceedingly lithe and pale- the perfect place to mark. It’s devoid of hickeys, has been for about a week and Ron might be a little daft but he’s definitely noticed the tension between Draco and Harry that would explain this. Ron wonders, just for a second, what it would be like to sink his teeth into Draco’s neck, but then he stops because he’s not even sure he’s allowed to think of something like that. Technically he is, of course. But this void in 12 Grimmauld Place is vastly expanding, and Ron can’t help but blame it all on himself. 

 

Guiltily, Ron discards the rest of his uneaten food onto the coffee table in front of them, then sighs a little louder than he meant to. 

 

“You can put on the telly,” Draco mutters. 

 

“I don’t want to distract you from your book.”

 

“Please,” and Draco gives him an easy smile, looking up from the corner of his eye. It’s a grin that’s all too butterfly inducing. “I listen to music at maximum volume when I read, quite often. I doubt you could distract me that easily.” 

 

The TV comes on and it’s not a distraction but the steady swell of background noise does plenty to knock Draco out. There’s nothing exactly exhaustive about lounging around all day, but Draco cuts himself some slack because emotional turmoil is just as tiring. He wakes up presumably an hour or so later, Ron to his right, Hermione to his left, and his book is closed neatly on the table, marker in between the pages. 

He rouses slowly, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm, then settles back down again because the part of his brain which registers that he’s resting his head on Hermione’s shoulder doesn’t seem to be working just yet. 

Distantly Draco registers the sound of the front door opening. There are soft murmurs that float over the TV, hushed but tense. 

 

“Harry-“

 

“Everything alright mate?”

 

“Fucking…” Draco’s consciousness lulls. “... not doing enough.” 

 

“Yes you are, Harry.”

 

There’s sniffling. 

 

“Anything we can do for you?”

 

“No.” The pain in this voice resonates strangely. Draco picks his head up in distress, glancing around. Footsteps struggling up the stairs. 

The brunt of his mind fog clears away rapidly, and Draco looks wildly between the other two. It’s clear from the line on Ron’s forehead and the downturn of Hermione’s brow that whatever the exchange was about hasn’t left them cheerful. But they make no move to stand up. 

 

Fine, Draco resolves. He stands up on his own two feet, fumbling when they’re  _ definitely  _ asleep from all the time he spent sitting on them, and carries himself up the stairs as fast as his body will take him because he’s still half dead to the world and he hasn’t put together that he and Harry are doing this weird dance, or even if he has put that together it doesn’t matter. Because Harry needs him now. 

 

Harry’s in their room, kicking off his jeans and flinging them to the ground, tossing his glasses off and climbing into bed. His sobs are muffled by the pillow from outside, but as soon as Draco creaks the door open they can be heard. He hurries inside and shuts it, extending himself onto the duvet and instinctively he strokes what’s visible of Harry’s hair. 

 

“What happened?” he asks dazed. 

 

“Nothing  _ happened, _ ” Harry hiccups with venom, turning his face to the side to breath better. “ _ I  _ happened.” 

 

“Where were you?” 

 

“Charity work,” he manages between gasps. “Publicity and statements and helping  _ orphans _ ,” he chokes. “Then I remember I’m a fucking orphan and I remember  _ why  _ and all the orphans I created with this stupid  _ fucking war that happened because I was born.” _

 

“Come here,” Draco urges him to turn over, and Harry does without much fight. He tucks his head into the hollow of Draco’s collar bone making it wet with sweat and mostly tears but that’s not even at the forefront of either of their minds. 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Draco breathes and cringes at the sobs that follow. “You didn’t kill their parents. You didn’t do this. You didn’t,” he repeats softly. 

 

“I should have stayed dead,” Harry gurgles and Draco’s blood runs cold. 

 

“No.” He grabs Harry by shoulders firmly- and yes it’s a little uncomfortable due to their position. But it still feels like the right thing to do. “No you shouldn’t have. If you were dead, I’d be in Azkaban. Ron would be lost. Hermione would be broken. And all of the war orphans you’re helping now wouldn’t have a face for their cause. I know it hurts, I know,” Draco rambles, soothing with whatever his brain will supply him with because he notices that Harry is making an effort to stop crying, if only to listen to Draco’s words. “But we need you. I need you. And you deserve to live happily in a world you helped to better. Okay?”

 

Harry can only nod, but that’s good enough so Draco goes from gripping his shoulders to slinging him in a protective embrace, and Harry’s fists twist tightly in the fabric of his shirt. 

 

“Need to cry,” he gets out, and he’s pinching his eyes shut, holding back the flood gates like he needs permission. 

 

“Then cry,” Draco coos. 

 

Sobs fizzle into gasps and hiccups, that fade to sniffles and Harry Potter has cried himself to sleep. Draco couldn’t tell you how long it’s been, but eventually the door creaks open and he glances over his shoulder. It’s the both of them. 

 

“Do you mind?” Hermione whispers and of course, no he doesn’t, he tells her, when they shuffle over to the bed. With a little magic they can all fit, it goes from right to left, Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, and finally he feels safe enough to fall asleep himself. 

 

* * *

“Are you okay?” Hermione’s tender voice makes him stir. Early afternoon light filters into the room, and he cracks his eyes open just enough to see Hermione is carding her fingers through Harry’s knotted birdsnest. 

 

“Yeah,” he forces out, croaky and scratchy. 

 

“You sure mate?” Ron pipes up. Ah. So they’ve all woken up before him. “Maybe you should stay away from going there, if it makes you sad.”

 

“No,” Harry shakes his head and a few flyaway strands of hair tickle Draco’s nose. “I need to help.”

 

“You need,” Draco clears his throat, sitting up a little. “to do what’s best for your mental health.” 

 

“Morning,” Ron greets to him and for some reason that’s oddly pleasant. 

 

“We  _ all  _ need to do what’s best for our mental health,” Hermione says in that way of hers and the blonde isn’t sure if he likes that. “Including not bottling things up.”

 

Draco can feel three pairs of eyes burning into him, and the way that this conversation has turned from Harry onto him is simply not fair. “I’m out,” he bristles, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. 

 

“Wait-“ calls Hermione and a hand encloses around his wrist, presumably Harry’s and he can’t bring himself to tug away. 

 

“I get your point,” he tells her, still not laying back down. “We all need to get our heads in order before we can single out Harry. Fine. Be that as it may, there’s a time and a place to confront  _ me. _ ”

 

“I felt that this would be the perfect time and place,” Hermione explains earnestly. “We’re all here, in one room, already talking about our feelings-“

 

“Lay off it ‘Mione,” comes Ron’s voice, but it’s gentle. “Let’s just worry about Harry right now, alright?” 

 

“Please don’t go,” Harry pleads with him, squeezing Draco’s wrist and tugging. And with all his willpower, Draco can’t deny the boy who lived. Not entirely. 

He climbs back into the bed, hovering over Harry. Their noses bump, and for lack of a better word they nuzzle each other, before Draco kisses him. 

“I need space,” he admits meekly. “Need to clear my head before I talk. Just. Be with them,” Draco pulls away and he won’t say his heart breaks at the face Harry is giving him. “I’ll be back soon.” 

 

He flees the room before anyone can say anything else and  _ yeah  _ maybe it’s a little selfish, or maybe it’s not. Harry has Ron and Hermione who care about him just as much- he’s not leaving Harry alone in turmoil. In fact, Draco thinks he would have just made things worse had he stayed in there. 

 

The blonde makes his way down to the kitchen, gripping the edge of the island countertop with stiff knuckles. He lets oxygen flow through him, many deep breaths, until the tension starts to leave his shoulders, only to be replaced with a sense of despair. 

Echoes of Harry’s crying from the previous night fill his ears, and he shakes his head trying to will it away. It’s not enough, apparently, because he misses the footsteps that come up behind him so he jumps when Hermione places her hand on his shoulder. 

 

“I’m not ready,” he tells her warily. 

 

“I know,” Hermione relents and that’s her admitting she made a mistake. “There’s a time and a place. You’re right.” 

 

“You left Harry?” Draco asks but he knows that doesn’t mean left alone. 

 

“Ron needs some time with him. Even if it’s just a few minutes.” 

 

“It hurts so bad,” Draco blurts out, his voice cracking, tears welling in his eyes and he can’t help it. “To hear him cry like that. What he was- saying he should have stayed dead.” 

 

“He said that?” And Hermione’s wiping his tears and hugging him before he even has the chance to protest. He’s not even sure if he would. 

 

“Yeah. Last night.” 

 

“Okay,” Hermione murmurs as she rubs a few circles into his back. “Okay. Will you come back in a few minutes? I promise I won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

 

“Yes,” he agrees, scrubbing the salt water from his face. “Yes.” 

 

Once the majority of his tears have dried, Hermione departs back up the stairs. He doesn’t want to go- not yet. But Draco knows better, that if he doesn’t return now, he’ll work himself up all over again and he won’t be able to keep his promise. 

His footsteps go as light as they can, and standing just outside of the door, he’s got his hand on the knob, waiting because that Slytherin part inside of himself wants to know if they’re talking about him behind his back. So he puts his ear to the wood, hoping for no privacy charms. 

 

“... said you wished you were dead. Is that true?”

 

“Wait-“

 

“Hermione it’s not a big deal like that.”

 

“Did you say it or not, Harry?”

 

“Maybe something along those lines but-“

 

“Then Harry you need to see a Mind Healer.”

 

“Oh so only  _ I  _ need to see one? I’m the only one who’s messed up from th-“

 

“Mate.” There’s fabric rustling. “We’re not saying you’re the only one, and we’re not saying it to single you out. It’s just easier to focus on one person at a time, yeah?”

 

”... Yeah.”

 

Draco stands to his full height, turns the knob and pushes the door open. Of course he shuts it behind himself, and tries not to mind that all three of them turn their stare in his direction. It’s only a normal reaction to his entry. 

 

Sliding into bed, the blonde wraps his arms around Harry’s midsection, and buries his nose into the crook of his neck. It’s nothing romantic- if anything Harry’s covered in the smell of day old sweat which, is far from the worst thing Draco’s olfactory system has been exposed to in his lifetime. 

 

“Hi,” Harry says giddily, twining their legs together. It’s enough for Draco to believe they can collectively make it through this conversation in one piece. 

 

* * *

 

He’s carrying himself differently, Hermione notices. It’s not much of a question why- to have a bit of a strain put onto your sex life might do that to a person, especially when it’s thrown him into inner turmoil she’s only gotten a glance at. 

Maybe Draco thinks he’s being discreet about it, since no one has called him out. But Ron is too oblivious and Harry is too lovesick to see what’s in front of him. 

 

His arms twist in front of his chest, head bowed whether walking or still. Making himself small, unwanting to be seen, to disappear. It feels frighteningly like sixth year all over again, if not for different reasons. 

 

The sun is barely up, and when he walks into the living room it’s apparent by the surprise on Draco’s face that he expected to be the only one awake. A steaming cup of tea in one hand, the other clings to the wooden trim on the wall. 

 

“Sit,” Hermione tells him, patting the cushion next to her for emphasis. 

 

There’s not much room to argue with that. So Draco complies, settling next to her with a conservative few inches between them. 

She’s got to be gentle with him, she knows, if she’s going to say anything about it. Draco is flighty- a trapped and injured bird who’d fly away with a broken wing if given the chance. 

 

“Is that…” Hermione quirks an eyebrow at the full smell wafting through the air as she peers into Draco’s mug “English breakfast?”

 

Draco wrinkles his nose. 

“The very same,” he confirms with an unenthusiastic sip. 

 

“I thought you hated that flavor.”

 

“I do,” he says and it’s not surprising that she knows. “We ran out of everything else. I put it on the list.” 

 

“Well then why have any at all?”

 

Suddenly his gaze is cagey. Hard like stone then bends and cracks. “It’s not about the drink,” Draco tells her matter-of-factly. “It’s about the distraction.” 

 

“You could talk to me instead,” Hermione offers. But it only earns her a scoff. 

 

“Talk to you? What are you, my shrink?”

 

She levels him with a glare. 

“Don’t be rude.”

 

The two of them combined are too stubborn, too unwavering in their attitudes, to reach any kind of goal. Hermione reasons, that if one of them is going to back down from their pedestal, it’ll have to be her. She’s the one doing the poking and prodding after all. 

 

“Look,” she closes the space between them, hip to hip and Draco’s practically vibrating. He needs a hug so badly. “I know everything’s a bit mixed up right now. But you can’t keep holding it in.” 

 

After a few moments of tense nothingness, Draco gives in with the sigh. He sets his mug down on the coffee table with a trembling grip, then rests his head on Hermione’s shoulder- it’s one of the biggest acts of surrender from him she’s ever witnessed. 

 

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admits into the air. “It feels wrong.”

 

“Well,” Hermione ponders it, wiggling one of her hands into Draco’s lap and twisting their fingers together. “It’s not wrong. Harry told you- we’re all okay with it. I understand that it must be a little conflicting for y-”

 

“Everyone keeps saying  _ it, _ ” Draco groans and pulls his fingers back, using his hands instead to hide his face. Any sort of blushing he does is impossible to miss, and his words come out muffled. “Why don’t we all just say Ron gave me a boner and have that be the end of it?!” 

 

“You needn’t be embarrassed,” she implores him. “It’s perfectly natural. Healthy even!” 

 

“Oh- healthy,” he spits “wonderful, why don’t you contact my mediwitch so she can give me a sticker and a lolly- healthy! That completely bypasses the problem here!” 

 

“And what’s the problem?”

 

“The problem is that it’s weird!” Draco practically explodes, throwing his arms up in defeat. Hermione shushes him- the boys are still asleep after all and Harry is on alert constantly, a loud shout would easily wake him. So Draco complies, although begrudgingly. He continues on, but stands to pace as he does so. “I don’t  _ know  _ Ron enough to be thinking things like that about him. Even if I didn’t mean to. And I don’t want to be leading anybody on!”

 

“Hush!” she chides him again. “You don’t have to act on it, you know. You’re not required to do anything. If you wanted to, then I’m sure Ron would be happy to get to know you. But-“

 

“But I feel weird about it. I don’t even really know if I want to or not but I think I put the idea in Harry’s head and I just…” Draco cringes. He fumbles in his pacing, then comes to an unsteady halt, twitching in place. His face screws into something fierce and what looks to be physically painful. “I don’t want to disappoint him. I feel like I’d do anything for Harry.” 

 

“You  _ shouldn’t  _ do something that makes you uncomfortable, just because you think that’s what he wants from you,” Hermione tells him but she’s almost positive he knows that deep down. She pushes herself up off the couch and comes to stand by his side. “He wouldn’t want that. He cares about you.” 

 

“I know,” he says under his breath.

 

“Do you?” Hermione tests. 

 

“I  _ know  _ it, I just. Fail to believe it sometimes.” 

 

“You need to talk to him,” she softens because, even if it was agonizing, she’s drawn out the truth from him. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise- not for months and it would have ended catastrophically. “What you told me, you need to tell Harry.”

 

“Tell me what?”

Draco and Hermione whip their heads around so forcefully they’ll both, no doubt, be left with a crick in their necks for a week. They turn to face Harry, hovering in the doorframe, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and his hair sticking up in every direction. He’s even got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and that does something funny to Draco’s heart. 

 

“Nothing,” the blonde replies instinctively and Hermione elbows him. “Something,” he corrects himself with a wince. “Just not here and now.” 

 

Later, he tells himself at lunch. Later, he tells himself reading his book, procrastinating with each page that goes by. The same word he tells himself again and again through the day and really later means never, not unless I have to. The weight that follows him to bed doesn’t disappear. It simply pins him to the mattress in the morning. 

* * *

The walk through muggle London is exactly the fresh air they need. Just a breath they’d never be able to get walking somewhere wizarding. Especially not Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. So they settle for a muggle cafe while not even having to settle at all. The agreement is quick because, although Draco’s become a bit of a social recluse in these few months, he knows a stroll would do him good, and he’d rather not be subject to the staring he’s bound to get if he walks anywhere they know what he’s guilty of.

Height of summer oppresses him in the afternoon rays, and Draco winces, tugging at the collar of his shirt. His hands wrapping around a light jacket before they left were met with a pleading stare from Harry- no words between them but he knew well what it meant. These were muggles and all they’d see was a faded tattoo. Ron, Hermione, and Harry would be the only ones besides himself to really know, but so far they had made peace with it.

 

“Lead the way then,” he tells them as though it’s not what Hermione is already doing, as Harry falls into step next to her. Her wild gesturing and jargon indicates to Draco that she’s telling him about her project in the ministry. Something about house elves. But that makes guilt crawl up his back, so he tunes the two of them out.

They go blurry around the edges, and like he’s hearing them from underwater, what they’re saying ceases to matter. He can only watch as the summer wind throws Harry’s hair in all directions, and he lights up with enthusiasm at something she’s saying. He’s beautiful like that, Draco realizes and a sharp pang hits him square in the heart. So passionate, so free. He tries to keep it to himself but he can feel the edges of his lips tugging down because all he wants to do is be covered in kisses and engulfed in those hands. But he’s a coward. 

Ron keeps the same gait next to him, long and slow strides, because there’s just enough room for two people to fit side by side on the pavement.

 

“How do you not get jealous?” Draco asks him with a wince. The words are so bitter in his mouth and they sound so harsh coming out. 

 

“I do,” Ron answers him simply. It’s not the response Draco was expecting- in fact it throws him for so much of a loop that he trips on a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk, stumbling for a few steps until his balance comes back. 

 

“Pardon? But-“

 

“It’s not about… not having the feelings,” the redhead explains. He forces himself to slow in order to keep the conversation a tad private, and subconsciously Draco follows suit. “It’s about handling them the right way.” 

 

Draco frowns. “How do you handle it then?” 

 

“I’m not perfect at it,” Ron admits so easily that Draco wants to rip his hair out. “Far from it, in fact. There are times when I just want Hermione all to myself, and sometimes Harry too. But I know they both love me, and I don’t want to deny them of the love they give each other. It’s hard. Sometimes I feel like Harry is replacing me- I’d never be able to compete with him, I’ve been competing my whole life for everything with my brothers. You’ve seen me when I lose my head.”

 

As they talk, keeping a few paces behind the others, Ron takes a moment to pause in his thoughts. Wordlessly he holds his hand out between them, palm up- and invitation. For a moment, Draco really believes he’s daydreaming, but when a few rapid blinks don’t clear the image away, he hesitates, then slips his hand into Ron’s. It curls around him, warm and tight and strong. 

 

“I get angry,” Ron resumes like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. “And I tend to say things that really hurt.” He’s staring at the back of Harry’s wild mane, searching, vacant. “Did you know I told Harry that he could never understand how I felt during the war? That his parents were dead, so how would he know anything?” 

 

At this, Draco doesn’t comment. The fact that Harry is an orphan is a sore subject for a few imaginable reasons. And he’s sure that Ron is also well aware of the nasty things he spouted to Harry about his dead parents in adolescence. 

 

“It was the horcrux, granted, feeding off my darkest feelings. But I said that to him, and I’m supposed to be his best mate.” 

 

“He forgave you,” Draco says with as much warmth as he can muster, which is more than he expected from himself. 

 

“I reckon he did. But the point is that it’s not easy. There are times when I can’t get it right. But you just have to know you can have three people, and love them all just the same, if you let yourself. Hermione’s love for Harry doesn’t make her love me any less. Does that make sense?”

 

“Yeah,” Draco says. A gentle breeze catches him across the face, wind tickling his nose and sending his hair fluttering in front of him. When it settles, he can see through the little spaces, Harry craning over to kiss Hermione on the junction of where her lips meet her cheek. There’s still a hand heavy in his own, firm and reassuring. And he thinks maybe it really does make sense. 

 

* * *

With the way the dishes clatter loudly in the sink, the water rushing from the spicket nearly oppressive, and the tangible tension in the air, Draco knows this is all coming to its peak. They don’t speak during supper- Harry or Draco. And that’s more than a little odd and Draco wishes he could just open his fucking mouth and say something useful but he can’t. There’s lump in his throat and they usually all pitch in to clean up so he lifts everything he can all at once, right up to the counter, before fleeing like the spineless sack of shit he is.

He’s not sure why. It’s just one of those days where one wakes up and wants nothing more than to go right back to sleep and pass the whole day by because something isn’t right about it. But he couldn’t. Because they all wanted to go to a muggle cafe and he couldn’t deny them that.

His heart hammering in his ears, the uneasy churn giving him second thoughts on his ability to keep down the salad and few pieces of pasta he’d pushed around on his plate before begrudgingly eating, Draco finds himself nearly running, until he’s caught on the shoulder by a hand that stops him just before he rounds the banister.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I-“ Draco’s voice drops out from under him, a heavy punch to the gut. He sucks in a breath, clearing his throat and trying again, while his eyebrows draw together unwillingly. “I don’t know how to say it.”

 

“Just try,” Harry pleads with little modesty. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

The words are all built up in the back of his throat, beating and screaming but when he tries to make them come, all that he hears is a pathetic croak. It’s maddening. It should be so easy, for he’s never had issue with speaking what was on his mind. This is different though. The thought of Harry being saddened or filled with rage at what he needs to say is plenty a deterrent. 

 

It’s like he breaks.  _ Harry picking himself up and leaving. Walking away. Kicking Draco out and telling him not to come back. Hateful words he may not even be capable of come spewing out _ . 

A hairline fracture in his heart splits and grows, climbing up his spine and branching out and shattering until he’s full of tiny glass shards, ones that squeeze his lungs and rib cage when he tries to breath. 

Draco realizes there are tear tracks over his cheekbones, little wheezy breaths, and he shakes his head, trying to come back into his body. 

 

“Hey, hey,” Harry’s voice resonates next to him, a trembling hand gripping his own. A grip so unsure, so hesitant, it reminds the blonde he’s not alone in this. He wraps himself around Harry, one arm slung around his torso to bring them together, the other up by his face as he wipes the wetness with the heel of his palm. 

 

“Whatever I did to… make you feel like this,” Harry tries to keep his speech low and steady but a crack betrays him. “I’m sorry. I would never-“

 

“I know,” Draco reassures him. “I know you care about me. You didn’t do anything.”

 

“Clearly I did. I- fuck,” there’s a wave of heat that rolls through the room, magic tingling on his skin and Harry’s shaking with effort to be still. 

 

“You didn’t,” the blonde presses and he takes Harry by the chin, kissing him slow and soft, rubbing his thumb in small circles on Harry’s hip bone because that’s what always works. 

He’s just trying to think of a way to say it. But there will never be a better confession than what he gave Hermione, he thinks. There would be no better way to word it, and even though the memory is blinding to him, he can’t make the words come out the way he did that day. 

 

Suddenly Draco lights up, pulling away a fraction. He’s searching Harry’s wild eyes as he asks what he mostly knows to be already true. 

“Do you still have the pensieve? The one that came with the house?” 

 

“Yes?” he asks breathlessly. “Why?” 

 

There’s no explanation, tripping up more flights of stairs two at a time to the attic, because Draco knows that’s where it is. It sits in the corner, empty but seemingly waiting. Waiting to be used like it knew they would need it one day. 

 

Draco fills the basin with his wand before he can psych himself out of it, the liquid undulating and flickering in the low light. The way he spells it almost looks like molten mercury, or maybe that’s just from the heavy sense of dread, settling like lead between his bones. 

The stones around the dish are cracked with usage and love, mosaic tiles that Draco tries to focus on the beauty of, instead of the anxiety that’s welling up through him as his points his wand to his temple and draws the memory out of himself. 

It hangs there, a glowing spindle, and he casts it into the pensieve. 

 

“Just look,” he urges Harry, watching the glow diffuse itself over the space. 

 

“You don’t want to watch with me?” Harry asks him, reaching to thread their hands together. 

 

“No,” Draco shakes his head. “It won’t take long, you’ll- You’ll get it. Once you see.” 

 

Harry nods slowly, then faces the pensieve. His head sinks into the liquid, the glow casting shadows around his neck, and Draco can hear the first words of the memory echoing in his mind. 

 

_ “Is that…” Hermione quirks an eyebrow at the full smell wafting through the air as she peers into Draco’s mug “English breakfast?” _

 

_ Draco wrinkles his nose.  _

_ “The very same,” he confirms with an unenthusiastic sip.  _

 

He counts down each agonizing second, playing the dialogue back in his head, trying to predict when Harry will pull his head up. But he’s run through the memory at least three times, the echoes of the ending playing in his mind. 

 

_ “You need to talk to him,” she softens because, even if it was agonizing, she’s drawn out the truth from him. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise- not for months and it would have ended catastrophically. “What you told me, you need to tell Harry.” _

 

_ “Tell me what?” _

 

It starts again in his brain, the smell of English Breakfast wafting through the air and he wrinkles his nose, when Harry lifts his head up from the basin. 

Their fingers are still connected, and Draco gives them a little squeeze, not sure what he’s trying to convey but at the very least hoping they won’t be ripped from his grasp. 

 

“You should have told me.”

 

“You don’t think I know that?” A flash of heat rolls through Draco, his walls coming up one by one but in a panic, like he’s stacking them from the ground up, brick by brick and mortar coating his hands in a last ditch attempt to save any part of himself. 

 

“Then why didn’t you?”

The tone of his voice makes it hard to put up a fight. Draco blinks rapidly, his irate defensiveness fading away at an alarming rate. 

 

“I-“ He wills the floor to open up and swallow him whole, as though wanting something so badly could make it happen, could urge it into existence. “I couldn’t.”

 

“Why?” There’s a gentle squeeze- Draco realizes their hands are still connected- and that’s how Harry lets him know that the  _ why _ isn’t accusatory. 

 

“I was embarrassed,” he confesses. “And ashamed. Of being so sensitive. Why should something like this bother me? And what would you think of me when I told you?”

 

Harry frowns. And Draco wishes so excruciatingly that he could chase it away with a kiss but that would be entirely inappropriate given the discussion they’re having. 

“You’ve never had a problem giving me a piece of your mind. Especially not with sex.”

 

Draco flinches. And that’s when it starts building up inside him, scorching and immobilizing, filling him with liquid shame and mortification. He’s determined not to cry, but the pressing weight of it has been nagging at the back of his mind for days now and there’s no way to escape from it. Not anymore. 

“I know,” he croaks out even though he wants nothing more than to delay the inevitable, as though there was a pause button. 

 

There’s a few seconds recess. Because, though Harry isn’t daft by any means, it takes him a few moments to put things together. It’s not until they come into a certain light that he can see it, and it’s this shallow, blue light of the attic that lets him put the picture together. He furrows his brows but when they soften, Draco can feel every nerve in his body screaming at him to run. He’s glued to his spot. 

 

“It’s not just about sex.”

 

“No,” Draco laughs pathetically. “And it’s terrifying. To realize all of a sudden that I cared what you thought more than I’d planned to. That I didn’t want to disappoint you. That I’d do anything for you. That you have the power to hurt me.” 

 

“I don’t want you to be afraid,” Harry pleads, and while Draco’s filled with panic, the gryffindor is running rampant with a fear of his own. Shaking him on the inside, it dawns on him, is that it breaks him to know that he  _ had  _ hurt Draco. Even if not intentionally. Had made him bottle up his feelings and suffer silently like this. 

 

“How could I not be?” he asks. “To realize I was falling in love with you. Too fast and too hard- I-“ 

 

“Come here,” Harry interrupts him, pressing their bodies together. He tries to remember what his mind healer said about breathing. About through his nose and out his mouth and trying to hold himself together for both their sake. “I wouldn’t hurt you. You know I care about you-”

 

“It’s not just that. I-“ Draco draws himself closer. He needs the comfort and although he might not admit it aloud, the way he tucks his face into the crook of Harry’s neck speaks for itself. “I made this into a big mess.” 

 

“That’s okay,” Harry tells him, tracing shapes into his spine. “We’ll figure it out.” 

 

With a shaky inhale, Draco deflates into his partner’s touch, taking in the lingering scent of their dinner on his clothes, and something like the earth, that could only be described as Harry. He wants to melt into it, to meld into one until there’s no distinction between the two of them. 

 

“Let’s go back downstairs okay? We could bake something. Do you want dessert?” 

 

Draco nods, in doing so tickling Harry’s neck with his eyelashes. He’s not a child anymore. Neither of them are but what’s the harm in needing the comfort every once in a while? It’s not unreasonable considering their childhoods were stolen from beneath them. 

 

Harry guides both of them back down to the kitchen, confidence instilling itself into Draco with every step, and by the time they’ve crossed the threshold onto the tile, he’s less of a mess all around. There’s something about the person next to him, that they’ve been walking on eggshells all week with each other but now they don’t have to and Harry feels like home again rather than an enemy. 

 

He gives Draco a small squeeze on the shoulder before stepping them further into the kitchen. It makes Hermione’s head swivel and when she meets Draco, her lips quirk up but there’s a gentle sadness that doesn’t quite make its way out of her eyes. 

“Everything okay?” she says to Draco but she already knows. 

 

“Yes,” he supplies with a smile just as forlorn. 

 

“What do you want to bake, love?” Harry asks him and the word strikes him down so hard he clutches his fingers into a fist on top his chest. He has to take a slow, long breath before he can even think again, something warm and radiating from his heart. 

 

And now it’s not so scary anymore

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again sorry it's kinda sloppy since I fell out of writing this particular piece.  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you're interested in more from this, I'd love to write more!


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